Now You See It by Richard Matheson

Christ!
    “You saw this Harry Kendal die before you lost consciousness?”
    “Yes!”
    “Okay.”
He tried to mollify her with a gesture. “I’ve got it now.”
    He frowned. “Except—”
    A look of pained vexation took her face.
    “—you said before, you thought this Harry Kendal had been shot.”
    “Oh.” She nodded. “Yes. Apparently what happened was that my husband terrorized Harry with—”
    “Terrorized?” he broke in.
    “I said
apparently
because he fired one of those dueling pistols at him.”
    “Then—”
    “Let me finish,”
she demanded, begging. “The pistol ball was obviously a fake one—made of wax, hollow, filled with blood. A magician’s gimmick.”
    “I see,” said Plum. “And why would he do that?”
    “I told you—to terrorize Harry.”
    Plum’s voice seemed suddenly—surprisingly—aware as he inquired, “And why would he want to do that, Mrs. Delacorte?”

chapter 14
    Cassandra didn’t—couldn’t—speak at first. Then she answered, “I don’t know.” Of course she did; we both did now. But she had no intention of letting the Sheriff know.
    “No idea?” he asked; much as though he suspected the truth, although he obviously couldn’t have.
    Cassandra tried deflection.
    “Look, does any of this really matter?” she demanded. “My-husband-murdered-his-agent.
Arrest
him.”
    “Please,” said Plum, “let me decide what matters and what doesn’t matter.”
    She could only sigh in response. Heavily.
    “All right.” He looked around. “Where
is
your husband then? I’d like to talk with him.”
    “Talk
with him?” She looked insulted. “What is there to
talk
about?
He murdered Harry Kendal
. Period!”
    “Mrs. Delacorte,” he said, “these things have to be done in a certain way. I can’t just arrest a man because—”
    “—some stupid woman tells you that he murdered someone,” she broke in coldly.
    “That’s
not
what I was about to say,” he told her.
    He blew out a cheek-puffing breath.
    “Assuming that what you say is true—” he began.
    “Assuming?”
she raged.
    “—do you have any idea where this agent’s body might be?”
he finished strongly.
    She was taken aback by the question. So was I. I hadn’t even thought about it.
    “No,” Cassandra told him as though the thought had just occurred to her as well. “I don’t. I just—”
    She stopped with a scowl. “How could I
possibly
know?” she asked, affronted. “I’ve been
unconscious.”
    “All right,” he said. “Is there any place we might begin to search for it? For
him,”
he amended.
    Cassandra was about to answer when she held back, narrowing her eyes.
    She looked around the room, a curious expression on her face. I wondered what she was doing.
    Plum also wondered. “Why are you looking around the room?” he asked.
    She didn’t reply, her gaze moving slowly around TMR.
    “Mrs. Delacorte?”
    “I can’t believe—” she started.
    She twitched at a rumble of thunder.
    Now Plum was looking around the room. So was I—as best my eyeballs could manage; I wasn’t a damn iguana though, with a hundred-and-eighty-degree vision in each eye.
    “What are you thinking?” the Sheriff asked. “That the body’s in
here?”
    He looked at one of the walls.
    “Are there secret panels or something?” he asked.
    “It wouldn’t make sense,” Cassandra murmured to herself.
    Her eyes focused on Plum. “What?” she inquired. “Secret panels?”
    “Yes. I thought maybe—”
    The Sheriff’s voice broke off as Cassandra moved abruptly to the wall panel she’d used earlier to get rid of Brian when he was made up as her.
    Pressing at a section of molding, she caused the panel to open. (In a way, I hated that this stranger should be privy to a secret I’d created in this house almost forty years before.)
    Cassandra had moved through the opening to look inside. Plum moved to the opening as well and peered in.
    He jerked back as Cassandra came out, looking angry (at